How the Statue of the Kissing Wizards Came to Be
by physixXx
Summary: Once upon a time, in a land much like ours, there lived the LionWizard and his Dragon. This is the tale of how their loved became eternal. Written in my best CS.Lewis impression.


**1.**

A spell struck the lion-wizard square in the back. He tried to move behind a half-derelict building to gain cover and regain his standing, but he found that his legs were slowing down. He tried to raise his arms to cast spells – spells that might have helped him – but found that his arms became too heavy to lift. His breathing became laboured and his voice raspy, before it was silenced, altogether.

He could however, hear a dragon scream behind him, but could not turn to face him – though his last wish would have been to see the dragon one final time – his dragon.

The dragon made his way in front of the lion, with tears in his eyes and frenzy in his voice. He clutched at the lion's face, begging him to hold on and whispering incantations that seemed to be halting the spell's transfigurement.

That was before he too, was struck by the same spell.

The dragon, who had already been muttering the counter-curse, knew that he _could_ save himself. All he had to do was continue whispering the spell and eventually, help would come. With a minor inconvenience, he could be healthy and whole and live his life until its natural end.

He looked into the bright emerald eyes of the lion – his lion – and began running his fingers through his mane. The lion could feel the breath of the dragon less and less as his skin tightened and hardened. When he cried, pebbles the size of marbles rolled down his cheeks, instead of tears.

Then the dragon kissed the lion, realizing that an eternity in the warm embrace of his lover, kissing for all time, would not _really_ be that bad after all. Moreover, the dragon, who could not bear a life without his lion, would rather stand forever immovable, unrelenting and unyielding, kissing his lion until the end of days.

And really, which would you choose were your roles reversed?

**2.**

"...and that is the story of how the 'Statue of the Kissing Wizards' came to be," said the guide to her tour group as they stood in front of the museum. The white marble statue of two lovers in an embrace towered over them. There was naught a flutter of movement as the men stood solemn; and the ladies held back a gasp and began to swoon; and the little girls began to sob; and the little boys began to snicker and "ewwww" (that is, until the little girls started to elbow them in their backs or chests or ribs).

Those who were strong enough to bare it looked ceremonially at the statue that adorned the entrance to the museum that was once the Ministry of Magick. And, although the other statues – of gnomes, centaurs, various magickal creatures and powerful beings – were slightly worse for wear (with chipped and cack-stained surfaces), the 'Statue of the Kissing Wizards' remained free of grime and dirt, as smooth and immaculate as if it were chiselled by Merlin himself just yesterday.

The tour group continued to mull over the fairy tale that they had all known since even when the grown ups were children. It is a tale that almost every witch and wizard have been told; the stuff of legends, almost as celebrated as how The-Boy-Who-Lived defeated You-Know-Who in the first Dark War and how You-Know-Who was defeated by the Order of the Phoenix in the second Dark War.

However, little Emily knew a different story. Her mother, who was told by her mother, whose mother told _her_, so on and so forth, recounted the tale many a sunset.

"Oh, mother," little Emily remembered saying, "I do love that fairy tale."

"Oh, no, dearest daughter," her mother would say, "It is not a 'fairy tale'. For this truly happened. Your great, great grandmother Granger was there. She bore witness to their love as it was made eternal."

"Do you think they are still in love, then mother; still together?"

Her mother's eyes would glisten at this question, no matter how many times she had to answer it.

"Oh, yes," she said, in little more than a whispered breath, "so long as the stars still poke through the night's sky and the oceans still tickle the beaches at dusk; they will still be in love... and still be together."

As the tour group moved on, little Emily stood entranced by the image before her: the sight of the two men who seemed to have barely made it in time for one final embrace – one last kiss. The lion and dragon had their eyes open, lips parted, and arms wrapped around each other tight. A normal person would be crushed to death were they held so firmly. The dragon, with one of his legs wrapped around the waist of his lover, had elevated ridges of stone lined down his high cheekbones; Emily knew these to be tears.

Yes, little Emily, whose great, great grandmother had been there when the stone figures were flesh and had watched as flesh hardened, blood dried, and two lovers shared the irrevocable proof of their passion.

Little Emily knew a different story that was not all fairy tales and wonderment.

Still, it was a story that was no less beautiful.

For it was _real_...

... and it had happened.

fin


End file.
